


A Man's Got Needs

by dragonspell



Category: Firefly
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV First Person, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man's got needs and sometimes, Mal's got an itch that needs scratching.  Me, I'm happy to help a feller out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man's Got Needs

A man's got needs. Me, I don't need much. Food, shelter, boatloads of money, and lots of sex--the basic necessities, really, and I ain't too picky in how they come. Push comes to shove, I can do without two or three.

Now, take the Captain. He's a bit harder to figure out, a bit more finicky, but it all comes down to that need. 

You see, sometimes Mal needs a dick up his ass. It don’t mean anything. Sometimes a man’s got an itch that needs scratching, that’s all. I don’t judge him for it and I don’t ‘spect anyone else should judge him neither. Me, I’m just mighty pleased that he’s decided to use _my_ dick instead of that big fake one that I know he’s got stashed away. A man’s got needs, after all. If Mal decides to help a feller out while helping himself, more power to him, I say.

‘Cause Mal, he rides it like he should be charging. He could make a fortune if he weren’t so intent on giving it away for free. It’s not about that for him but it’s a cryin’ shame, all that money sitting out there going unclaimed. Hell, I’d prolly pay myself. And I might not even try to steal it back from him later on. 

‘Course, Mal would shove a gun up my ass for the attempt which is enough to make me shy away though it’s most because I’m just so damn pleased with the service. You don’t go poisoning your own well, specially when there’s no other places to drink within a few trillion miles.

This is the sixth time that Mal’s given me that look that lets me know he’s gonna be climbing in my bunk later on—sometime when Serenity’s on autopilot and ain’t nobody up anymore but him and me. It’s the seventh time that we’ve had sex. The first wasn’t nearly so cut and dried an experience, but quite eye-opening all the same.

Not that I’ve been counting or anything. There’s just some things that a man damn well remembers, ‘specially when it’s rare, and Mal, well, he’s pretty damn memorable.

Take right now where he’s got me pinned down to the bed, his legs squeezing against my sides. I could get up if I want to but I’d have to be crazy to do so. He’s got one hand on my chest reminding me not to move but he might as well hang that from the bed post because I’m not going anywhere with him riding me like a champion bull rider—and not just for the eight seconds, neither. Mal’s in this for the long haul. ‘Course that might be why he’s got the hand there, pressing me down into the bed. He’s knows how danged blamed impatient I get sometimes, ‘specially when he’s decided that he needs it to last.

Mal’s like that sometimes. I don’t know what drives him and, frankly, I don’t care, but I’m willing to help him out on this one. ‘Course, I do wish he wouldn’t take all night about it, ‘cause I’m dying by the minute. Slowly. Painfully. In tiny little increments that don’t look so big but boy do they add up. One little twist at the right time and I’d prolly be done for the night but Mal’s not going to allow that. He’s going to keep me right where I am and I have to suck it up. Mal’s a goram tease when he wants to be.

There’s sweat trickling down Mal’s chest, slicking him all up and while I’d like to taste it, it’s just nice knowing that he’s feeling this as much as I am. I could knock him off and finish the job myself—I’m just about frustrated enough to do so—but it wouldn’t be nearly so satisfying. ‘Sides. Mal lets me come inside and it’s a rare fuck that lets a feller do that.

His hips are flexing, thighs lifting him up and down, and the hand that’s not promising retribution if I so much as twitch is pressed up against his back, bracing him as best as it’s able. I’d like to help him out with that, too, just curl my hands around his hips—maybe speed him up some—but that wouldn’t end well. I’d either have a knife at my throat or Mal would be up and gone and it’d be weeks before he’d be willing to slink back down.

Sometimes I’m allowed to touch and sometimes I’m not. That’s all up to Mal. Tonight, I’d better keep my damn hands where they are and it don’t matter how inviting how Mal’s hips look.

Tomorrow, my ass is gonna be dragging and Zoe’s gonna give me Hell for it. Mal will make sure that we go all night right into the small hours. He usually does, once he finally decides to go through with all this. It’s like he denies it for so long that it takes him a long time to let it all out. Only he never lets it show the next morning—iron pride keeps his back straight though we’re both aware that it should be all bent to Hell and if it’s been a _really_ good night, by all rights, he should be limping. That’s what’s not fair, right there. A man should be able to get to see the fruits of his labors. When I put in a whole goram shift of pounding Mal’s ass, I’d like to see him show it. Just a wince here and there. Maybe a sudden aversion to sitting. All I’ll get is a raised eyebrow and a comment that I look like Hell, like he wasn’t the one who kept me up.

It’ll be hours before Mal stops. If I’m lucky, I’ll last that long. If I’m _really_ lucky, I won’t—and Mal will take the time to get me up and going again. Mal will get what he wants either way. With any luck, so will I. Then, in another month or so, Mal will give me that look again and come sneaking down my ladder and that will be round eight, ‘cause we both know I’m not about to tell him no. No one else will have a goram clue.

A man’s got his needs. Me and Mal, we’re just helping each other out.


End file.
